


emergency exit

by rae_tnub



Category: Batman - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Anxiety, Batfamily (DCU), Crossover, Gen, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Sports Festival Arc (My Hero Academia), bakugou interns with batman, batman will show up eventually, lots of focus on legality in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_tnub/pseuds/rae_tnub
Summary: The two thousand, three hundred and sixteenth offer gives him pause.The seal on the top of the paper is the Justice League’s symbol. Joining the Justice League is the highest honor a hero can receive. Only the best of the best heroes ever get an invite. Those are the heroes called for the biggest things, like alien invasions and major disasters. They’re the representatives of the worldwide hero community to the rest of the world.He scans the details of the cover letter. It’s as generic and bland as the rest of them—still written in perfect Japanese, though—and it’s fromBatman.Batman...Batman is an American hero.An American hero wants him as an intern?
Comments: 170
Kudos: 550





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moniix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moniix/gifts).



Katsuki sets the stack of files on his desk. He has three thousand, five hundred and fifty-six internship offers to sort through. It’s going to take the entire weekend, but he’s prepared. He made enough meal-replacement smoothies for the whole weekend last night. His parents had fucked off to Tokyo for the next few weeks. He’d taken the thirty-two-gallon plastic garbage bin with an attached paper shredder from his father’s office and set it next to his desk, knowing that the offers might have his personal information on them. 

The first step to completing any task is to break it down into smaller chunks. 

So, the first chunk of this task: get rid of the internships he wouldn’t take. 

He opens his laptop, opens a playlist of lo-fi instrumentals, and pulls up the Japanese National Hero Ranking, filtering the rankings down to only the top fifty. He has no time for anyone ranked lower than that. Hell, he has no time for anyone lower than the top twenty, but maybe he’ll humor them. 

It’s fucking tedious work, annoying as fuck, flipping through copy-pasted, formal cover letters and comparing them to the ranking before running them through the shredder. After the first hundred offers, he’s got the top fifty heroes in Japan memorized. The trash bag has to be replaced after the first two hundred offers. 

Katsuki takes a break just after he reaches the thousandth offer to shower, take his contacts out and put his glasses on (honestly, fuck his father for passing down his shitty fucking eyesight), and chug the flavorless smoothie down before settling back at his desk, swiping his finger over the trackpad of his laptop to open the hero ranking again, and continuing to sort. 

He’s found offers from twenty-seven of the top fifty heroes in Japan, all stacked neatly in a manila folder on the corner of his desk. Those are definitely enough to sort through and pick an internship from, but he’s admittedly curious. The highest ranked hero he’d found so far is Yoroi Musha, currently ranked eighth. He doubts that Endeavor will send him an internship offer after the shitshow that was the Sports Festival, and All Might doesn’t take interns, never has, so his highest possible offer would be Hawks, the third-ranked hero. 

By the time he’s gone through one thousand, five hundred and seventy-seven offers, his eyes are stinging from exhaustion. It’s late, almost midnight, and he only has one thousand, six hundred and seventy-nine offers left to sort through. 

He’s made enough progress on the stack to justify stopping for the night, pushing his chair back from his desk and stretching his back. He stands, straightens the stack of offers he still needs to sort through, before pushing his chair back under the desk. 

It might be a Friday night, but he won’t slack off on his evening routine. The shredder bag is only half-full, so he can leave it for the night. He checks the thermostat, turning the temperature down slightly in an attempt to keep himself from sweating through his mattress in the night. He brushes his teeth and silently pulls the bandages from his cheeks, revealing harsh, still-healing red lines in the shape of the godforsaken muzzle. 

He curses to himself as he carefully applies the ointment given to him by the family doctor—Katsuki had refused to go back to Recovery Girl after the awards ceremony and had left U.A. as quickly as he possibly could. He knows he should leave these cuts uncovered, but honestly it doesn’t matter. His skin doesn’t scar over, he’s taking the medication the doctor prescribed to keep them from getting infected in the meantime, everything’s going to be fine. 

He grabs the gauze and carefully reapplies it, glaring at himself in the mirror. He’ll finish sorting through the offers in the morning. 

. 

Katsuki starts his day the same way he always does. He goes downstairs to his mother’s home gym and runs six miles. He lifts weights. He does yoga for about an hour. He takes another shower, then downs another shake in the kitchen and fills his water bottle for the morning. He pulls off the bandages in his bathroom, applies the ointment, and leaves the gauze off. 

Only one thousand, six hundred and seventy-nine more offers to sort through. 

He settles down at his desk, rearranging the stack of unsorted papers, his laptop, and the stack of viable internship options to make room for his water bottle. He reopens the lo-fi playlist and the Japanese National Hero Ranking, and gets to work sorting again. 

It’s grueling, boring work. He knows that behind the boring, repetitive cover letters are a more personal letter explaining why those heroes had offered him an internship, but he’s not going to bother with anyone who can’t get off their ass and rank higher. 

The two thousand, three hundred and sixteenth offer gives him pause. 

The seal on the top of the paper is the Justice League’s symbol. Joining the Justice League is the highest honor a hero can receive. Only the best of the best heroes ever get an invite. Those are the heroes called for the biggest things, like alien invasions and major disasters. They’re the representatives of the worldwide hero community to the rest of the world. 

He scans the details of the cover letter. It’s as generic and bland as the rest of them—still written in perfect Japanese, though—and it’s from _Batman_. 

Batman...Batman is an American hero. 

An American hero wants him as an intern? 

Cementoss had covered this in history towards the beginning of the year. Back when heroism first became a viable career, the U.N. held a meeting about the rules that heroes would have to follow. After that meeting, a much smaller group of countries held their own meeting and came up with The International Convention on Hero Licensing Regulations. It was basic shit, really, the different kinds of hero licenses there were, the requirements for receiving a hero license, blah blah blah, but what it also did was create a pod of forty-eight countries that had one joint hero license, the Global Hero License, granting anyone who got a license in any of the pod countries the ability to work as a hero in any of the other pod countries. 

Katsuki had the list of countries memorized ( _Japan, South Korea, India, Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Mexico, Great Britain, Albania, Georgia, South Africa, Argentina, Botswana, Brazil, United Arab Emirates, Kazakhstan, Kenya, New Zealand, Canada, Paraguay, Belize, plus the entire European Union: Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Croatia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Hungary, Spain, Sweden, Slovenia, Romania, Portugal, Slovakia, Poland, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Malta_ , he thinks, bitterly). It had taken him hours to memorize all of them, and it was a damn good thing, since Cementoss had included that as a surprise extra credit question on a test, a point for every country you could list. Glasses and Ponytail had both forgotten two or three countries, and Katsuki had grinned maniacally when he realized that he came out on top. 

He remembers Cementoss telling the class that American heroism is very different from Japanese heroism. American heroes are traditionally trained individually by an established hero, not through hero schools. Apparently, American heroes value privacy more than Japanese heroes, because they still believe in secret identities. 

Everyone in the world knows Batman, but no one knows who he is. 

Why the hell would an American hero—let alone the founder of the Justice League—offer him an internship? 

Sure, he knew that Twinkle Toes had gotten an offer from some Parisian hero agency, but that shit made sense. Twinkle Toes was born in France and moved to Japan for school. 

As far as Katsuki knows, no one else in his stupid class got an offer from overseas. 

He’s been to America before, forced to attend some fashion event as an accessory for his mother, and he remembers liking it. 

Katsuki stares at the cover letter for a few long moments. 

Would he even be able to go to America for his internship? It’s a weeklong internship, yeah, but it’s in America. How long would that flight even be? He doubts his parents will care about the trip—because Mitsuki’s always harping on him about somehow becoming more independent, like he hasn’t practically been living alone since he was eleven, and Dad won’t be too hard to bully into agreeing. 

Aizawa wouldn’t give him the file if Katsuki wouldn’t be able to take the internship, right? And Twinkle Toes is going to a French hero agency, isn’t he? Wasn’t that what the guy was rambling about today in between class? 

He silently places the cover letter on top of the to-consider pile. 

Only one thousand, two hundred and forty offers to go. 

It’s lunchtime by the time he shreds the three thousand, five hundred and fifty-sixth internship offer. 

Katsuki sits back in his chair. He has forty-three offers tucked into that manilla folder on his desk, his water bottle is almost empty, and his room is filled with seventeen garbage bags of shredded internship offers. 

Asahina-san, his parents’ housekeeper, is coming on Wednesday, but he knows he’ll never hear the end of it from Mitsuki if he leaves these here for Asahina-san. It’s lunchtime anyway, so he knows he should take a break, have another meal replacement smoothie, maybe run a couple miles and take another shower. Could lugging these bags around be considered a workout? 

Well, no, because they weigh less than fucking nothing, apparently. 

Alright. Lunch it is, then. 

. 

Katsuki takes a long sip of his smoothie, typing out a text to his father with one hand. 

**Outgoing:** Oi, doormat. You still using the shit you got up on the whiteboard in your office 

**Incoming:** Of course you can use the whiteboard, Katsuki! Before you erase it, though, send me a picture of what’s on it? 

**Incoming:** Are you doing well, Katsuki? Do you need any more pocket money? Remember you have an appointment with Dr. Kobayashi Monday night! 

He snorts at his father’s bullshit, rolling his eyes and shoving his phone back in his pocket. Trust his father to be so fucking worried about him. He takes the final sip of his smoothie and sets the glass in the dishwasher. 

He finishes moving the garbage bags out to the back shed for Asahina-san to deal with when the trucks come around, then moves the half-full bin back into his dad’s office. It’ll be easier to work with the whiteboard in there than moving it to his room. 

Chunk two of this task: read the more personalized offers and take a SWOT analysis of them. 

(He does end up taking several pictures of the whiteboard before erasing it, sending them to his father, because if he’s a soft bitch for anyone, it’s his dad.) 

Most of the offers he shreds as soon as he read the first few lines of the personalized letter. All about how they can fix him, or make him better, or some bullshit like that. 

His highest ranked offer came from Best Jeanist, fourth in Japan. There isn’t a personalized offer in there, just a cover letter, a train ticket, the forms he’d need to fill out, and a sheet with instructions and directions to the Genius Office. 

Presumptuous. 

Obviously, the asshole assumed he would be Katsuki’s best offer, a top five hero. 

It’s the condescending nature of Jeanist’s offer that makes Katsuki’s eyes flick over to the offer from Batman, still untouched on top of the pile of other offers, the Justice League seal flashy and holographic, reflecting the light from his bedroom window. 

Aizawa wouldn’t have given him the offer unless he could actually take it, right? 

Best Jeanist might be top five in Japan, but only one Japanese hero has ever been invited into the Justice League officially: All Might, and he’s still only a part-time member. 

And he knows this isn’t a fake offer, because U.A. had screened every single offer their students received. 

Plus—rumor has it that Batman and his associates were all _quirkless_. 

Katsuki’s aware that for whatever reason Americans had a higher quirkless population than Japan’s, so for Batman to be as famous and as powerful as he is—Katsuki had always been drawn to power. 

Back when shitty fucking Deku lied to everyone—said he didn’t have a fucking quirk, the piece of shit—sure, Katsuki had bullied him about it, but it wasn’t about him being quirkless. Deku had never taken any fucking initiative. He didn’t work for it. He just sat there fucking talking about it. 

Batman was living fucking proof that quirkless people could be amazing heroes, and Deku did nothing but dream. 

Katuski did want to work on his hand-to-hand quirkless combat, after all. 

How long would a flight to America be, anyways? 

He glances at his laptop, still open to the same lo-fi stream he’s been listening to all morning, and opens a new tab. 

_Tokyo to Gotham flight time_ , he types into the search bar. 

Twelve hours. 

He could deal with a twelve-hour flight, couldn’t he? He has copies of the syllabus for all of his classes and PDF copies of his textbooks downloaded onto his laptop, and it would open up more time to physical training if he already completed most of his schoolwork...plus he’d be ahead of Glasses and Ponytail... 

Best Jeanist’s offer is still on the table his dad uses to stitch together prototype designs, the train ticket in full view. 

Katsuki enjoys watching it shred.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> added tags: anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, aizawa shouta.

The first thing Katsuki does when he arrives at school on Monday morning is drop his internship forms on Aizawa’s podium, ignoring the man dozing on the floor in his bright yellow sleeping bag. 

He’s early, same as always, moving to his seat. He sets his bag down on the floor next to him before pulling out his notebooks and pencil case. Midnight is giving them a test today, so he has to make sure his desk is perfectly arranged. Three pencils on his left side and three on his right, all six sharpened to a dangerous point and spaced evenly apart, easily accessible in case one is broken. A pencil sharpener on the top right corner of the desk. His notebook perfectly centered in the middle. 

The last time his desk wasn’t arranged neatly he failed a test. Sure, it was years ago, all the way back in primary school, but he refuses to let it happen again. He can’t fucking fail a test again. It’s bad enough he’s fucking third in class— _not for long_ , he promises himself. He’s going to surpass Glasses and Ponytail soon enough. 

He’s never seen anyone else in class do this on test days. He never saw anyone do it in middle school, either. It’s not normal, he knows, but he can’t stop himself. 

No one’s said anything about it, though. 

_To your face at least._

No, he’s not doing this. It’s just his anxiety. No one talks about him when he’s not around. Especially not the way he organizes his desk. 

Fuck, something’s wrong. 

Fuck! 

Everything’s perfectly spaced out, isn’t it? No, it’s not that. Is it the angle of the pencil sharpener? Hm, fuck— _what the fuck is it?_

It’s taking so much time, fuck! 

Everyone else is going to be arriving soon. Shit—he'd fucking seen Ponytail out in the hallways by the vending machine, chatting with some chick from 1B and Uraraka, and usually Glasses and Icyhot are both pretty early. Same with Deku. 

He could just leave it, right? 

No, he’s not going to fail another fucking test. No. It’s not going to fucking happen. 

He adjusts the position of a pencil again, then leans back slightly and checks the desk over again. One pencil on the right side is slightly out of place, so he fixes it and checks again. 

It’s perfect. 

Thank _fuck_. 

Ponytail and Uraraka enter the classroom at the same time, chattering away about some bullshit he doesn’t give a shit about. 

“Good morning, Bakugou-kun!” Ponytail greets brightly. 

Katsuki’s not going to deal with this. Give someone a fucking inch and they’ll take a mile, right? He’s not going to give her the chance to think they’re friends or some shit. 

“Hi, Bakugou!” Uraraka says, grinning. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He turns back to his desk, opening his notebook to go over his notes for hero art history. He hates this subject. It shouldn’t be a fucking requirement for hero students—an elective at most, because what the fuck does he need to know this shit for? Back on the first day of school, Midnight had described the class as “using art history as a way to study the relationship between heroes and the public”. It’s an interesting enough concept, sure, but hero students shouldn’t have to do this shit. Isn’t that what the fucking business course was for? 

“Oh!” Deku’s voice calls suddenly, and Katsuki whips his head up to bare his teeth at the shitty nerd in a threat. Deku swallows, glancing around at Uraraka and Ponytail’s confused faces before turning his gaze back onto Katsuki’s desk. “I, uh, just remembered we had a test!” 

Katsuki hates the look on Deku’s face. He hates that Deku knows what this means. It’s bad enough that Deku’s in his fucking class but the nerd shouldn’t know him this fucking well. It’s fucking disgusting. Sure, Deku’s never admitted that he knew what Katsuki’s desk means but Katsuki’s not a fucking idiot, and the nerd isn’t fucking subtle. 

Fuck. 

He’s not going to yell. He’s not going to do it. Absolutely not. 

He settles for a low growl when Deku slinks past him to his own seat with a squeaky, “Morning, Kacchan!” 

Katsuki turns back to his notebook, checking his notes. He’s got this. His desk is perfectly arranged, his notes are always perfect, everything is fine. 

He ignores everyone else as they enter the room, only grunting in response to Kirishima’s bright greeting, reviewing his hero art history notes. 

“Alright,” Aizawa says, and Katsuki glances up at the man, who’s finally standing up behind his podium, looking around the room with the same tired, slightly annoyed expression he always wears. “The first thing I need you to do is hand in your internship paperwork. Bakugou, I’ve noticed you’ve already done it, thank you for being on top of it.” 

Katsuki barely keeps back the victorious smirk. Good, he’s the first one to hand it in. 

He settles back in his seat, rolling his eyes as the rest of the losers in class search for their paperwork. 

/ 

Katsuki opens his phone’s clock app, setting a timer for fifty-seven minutes. The extra three minutes gives him enough time to get back to the locker room just before everyone else. Lunch is an hour long with another five minutes to get back to classes, but it he won’t eat for that long. His lunch is a very simple bento, handmade last night, zakkokumai, tonkatsu, and cucumber sunomono. Normally he doesn’t eat something as unhealthy as tonkatsu, but he knows that hero training this afternoon will be intense. He needs the extra calories to burn. 

He usually can finish his lunch in only twenty-four minutes, leaving him with thirty-three minutes free to do whatever he needs to do. He needs those thirty-three minutes to start reading. That’s why he isn’t in the cafeteria, instead he’s in an unused classroom in the second-year hall, because he knows Kirishima was trying to pull him into sitting with his annoying ass friends, and he knows they won’t let him study in peace. They never seem to. 

He finishes his lunch in only twenty-two minutes. 

Perfect. 

On Sunday, after the nonsense that was Saturday’s phone call with his parents discussing his decision to intern in America, he’d decided to take the train to the Mustafu University’s campus and wander into their bookstore. He’d picked up a copy of Introduction to International Heroics: Fifth Edition, the beginner’s textbook for History of Heroics majors—or fucking extras who weren’t good enough to be actual heroes and instead decided to talk about them for a living. 

If he’s going to be interning internationally, he might as well have some basic knowledge of international heroics. He knows that U.A. is supposed to touch on international heroism at some point in their third year, but it’s better to be prepared. Especially since most of U.A.’s heroics students tend to work the same internship for their entire schooling. Which might be an issue considering how far away New Jersey is to Mustafu, but he supposes he’ll be able to find an interim internship if he needs to. 

The textbook is thick and heavy—and it damn well should be, considering he spent a good chunk of the pocket money his father had given him on it—as he hauls it out of his bag and onto his lap. He’s got the same set of six highlighters he uses for Cementoss’s history class already out. 

The first step is simple, taking the same set of highlighters he uses for Cementoss’s history class and copying over the guide he made for that class onto the inside front cover of Introduction to International Heroics: Fifth Edition. 

Purple for dates. Pink for names. Yellow for quotes. Blue for key facts. Orange for key words. Green for organizations. 

Alright. 

He opens the textbook, skipping the foreword and the table of contents, going right to the first chapter, Official Heroism: The Beginnings. 

_The International Convention on Hero Licensing Regulations [ICHRL] was a series of international diplomatic meetings that resulted in the formation of the Global Hero License [GHL], a license allowing powered or non-powered individuals to receive governmental permissions to use their abilities in order to act as a private peacekeeping force [“Heroes”]. The agreement originated in 2102 and have been updated several times since, most notably adding language to extend the opportunity to non-powered individuals [“Quirkless”] in 2146, following the Non-Powered Equal Rights Movement._

_While each country in the Global Hero Licensing Coalition [GHLC] agreed to recognize the legal right of licensed Heroes to use a GHL in any country in the GHLC regardless of the country it was first issued in, each country was left free to create their own standards and requirements to receiving the GHL. In Japan, potential Heroes must complete three years of training and specialized education from an accredited “Hero school” before receiving a GHL. However, in the United States of America and Canada, potential Heroes are personally trained by an already-licensed Hero, using a Sidekick Hero License [SHL] for at least five years before receiving a GHL._

_The name given to quirks vary between countries—in the United States of America and Canada, people with quirks are called “metas”, in Japan, South Korea, Indonesia, and China, people with quirks are referred to as “quirked individuals”, and in most of Europe, people with quirks are called “mutants”._

He’s finishing highlighting “metas” and “mutants” in orange when the alarm on his phone goes off. 

Katsuki carefully puts his highlighters back into their case before putting the textbook back in his bag. He closes his bento, carefully cleaning up after himself to leave the empty classroom exactly as he found it. He’s not sure if he’s even allowed to be here, but he’d rather not get in trouble for this. 

Time for hero training. 

He’s the first to the locker rooms, just as he planned. He’s timed it out exactly so he can be already mostly dressed when the rest of his idiot classmates show up. Time is of the essence when it comes to hero work, whether it’s combat or rescue. There’s no time to fuck around and waste time. 

He spent a lot of time as a child changing in and out of clothes as quickly as possible until it took him less than a minute. Mitsuki was a huge help, teaching him the tricks she used as a model to quick change behind the scenes of fashion shows. Deku joined him a few times when they were really little, but he doubts the nerd kept up the habit. 

“Hey, Bakubro! We missed you at lunch!” Kirishima calls, appearing in the locker room. “Where’d you even go, man?” 

Katsuki doesn’t respond, pulling his gauntlet onto his right arm. Fifty-two seconds. Not bad, but it could be better. He’ll get it next time. 

“Where are you going for your internship, Bakugou?” Sparkplug asks randomly. “We all talked about it at lunch but you weren’t there!” 

Should he answer? Does he want to deal with their inevitable questioning? Can he get away with a blunt, basic answer? 

“I’m going to Esuha City, Fat Gum’s agency!” Kirishima declares. 

Fat Gum isn’t in the top fifty. How disappointing. 

He doesn’t pay attention to the other extras rambling about where they’re going, though he does catch that Birdbrain is interning with Hawks. Icyhot is unsurprisingly interning with his father. Is that it? How boring. 

“Come on, Bakubro! Tell us where you’re going!” Kirishima says, draping an arm over Katsuki’s shoulders. 

Katsuki slams his locker shut. “New Jersey,” he states plainly, shrugging the redhead off him and storming out of the locker room. “Hurry the fuck up, extras!” 

/ 

“Bakugou, stay behind a minute,” Aizawa’s voice rings out, and Katsuki pauses in his clean-up for end-of-the-day homeroom, turning to look at his teacher. The man’s actually awake for once, seated in his chair behind his desk, looking through Uniform’s head at him. 

What the hell does he want? Katsuki had only yelled at Deku once today, and it was during hero training, when he fucked up, so it shouldn’t fucking matter— 

It must have something to do with his internship choice. 

Fuck, was it a fake offer? Did Aizawa leave it in the stack by accident? Did he fill one of the forms that came with the offer out wrong? Shit, he fucking _shredded_ Best Jeanist’s offer, so now he has no fucking internship— 

Katsuki cuts his train of thought there, refusing to let his brain fall into another anxiety-induced spiral. 

Everything is _fine_. 

His internship being in America just means he has more paperwork to fill out. Visas and shit. 

Probably. 

He takes a breath to even himself out, turning back to pack up his things. _I don’t have the fucking time for this_ , he thinks, checking his phone, because he has to be at Dr. Kobayashi’s office in two and a half hours and it’s forty-five minutes and a train transfer away— 

He can feel those annoying green eyes on his back, the goddamned nerd, and he bristles. He doesn’t have time. There’s no time for this shit, because he knows Aizawa won’t deal with his shit, and he can’t miss another appointment with Dr. Kobayashi. The last time he’d skipped out on the appointment, he had to deal with Dad’s bullshit guilt trip about emotions and shit, and he’s not letting that happen again. 

The classroom slowly empties around him, and Katsuki deigns to let out a growl when shitty fucking Deku hesitates in the doorway. 

Aizawa leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I went over everyone’s internship choices during lunch,” he states simply. 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow. What in the fuck is this? Katsuki had filled out every piece of paperwork that came with the offer, and he’d even faxed a copy over to Mitsuki to sign instead of forging her signature like he does for almost everything else. He’d been exactly right, that Dad had been easy to break down when faced with both his wife and son. 

“Is there a reason you chose to intern almost eleven thousand kilometers away? In another country, even?” Aizawa asks after a long moment of tense silence. 

Who gave a shit? 

“It’s fucking Batman,” Katsuki responds blandly. Does he need any more reason than that? 

Aizawa hums in response, picking up a file on his desk. “Alright,” he says plainly, flipping the page in the file. “Is everything else okay?” 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, staring at the man. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?” 

Aizawa studies Katsuki’s face for a long moment, looking for cracks in the glass, something that betrays Katsuki’s words. He won’t find anything. Katsuki refuses to let it happen. 

“Fine, Bakugou,” the man says, handing him a printed out plane ticket. “I’ve talked to your parents and Nedzu—you'll be excused from class for a day before the official internship and a day afterwards for travel time. Nine days total. Your flight is in two days.” 

Hell fucking yeah. It’s a real internship. Thank fuck. 

Katsuki takes the plane ticket and carefully tucks it into his backpack. “Is that all?” 

Aizawa looks at him for another few seconds. “Yeah, kid. Get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't expect updates this fast in the future, i'm just really hype for this. i hope you guys like it, and batman is definitely coming in the next chapter!
> 
> if you saw this before i fixed the fucked up formatting no you didn’t ❤️
> 
> i have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AgSKDJb), if you're into it. it's still a bit small but everyone's welcome! my tumblr is [here](https://rae-tnub.tumblr.com), and my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/rae_tnub).


	3. Chapter 3

Katsuki hates flying. Not for being stuck in a flying metal tube (which he does hate, for the record) or for the cramped seating (not that he has ever had to deal with that, Kimura Mitsuki would never allow her family to fly anything less than first class), but the paperwork he has to fill out beforehand. 

The laws regarding travelling with an emitter quirk make a whole lot of sense and he totally understands the reason they exist, but that doesn’t stop them from being annoying as fuck. 

Finding time in his schedule to squeeze in an appointment with both his family’s physician and a quirk specialist was a fucking nightmare. He missed a whole block of his afternoon training for that bullshit. All so they could sign some stupid fucking paperwork that says he’s got enough control over his quirk that he’s no accidental risk to anyone so he won’t be forced to wear a quirk-cancelling device for twelve fucking hours. But, also, because of his specific quirk, he has to go through some extra bullshit and get paperwork from the fucking police department that says he’s not a potential terrorist. 

He’s gone through this a million fucking times since he was four, because of course the paperwork is only valid for three fucking weeks. 

Fucking bureaucracy. 

He carefully puts the paperwork into his boarding pass holder—the same leather one his father had given him for his birthday last year, personalized with his Romanized initials, matching with a watch because his father believed _Every good man needs a nice watch, Katsuki!_ —before checking that he has everything he needs. 

The credit card his parents gave him, his passport (both the Japanese passport and the Russian one, because Mitsuki was born there and demanded he keep double citizenship, because _You might need it sometime, you little shit_ ), the American money he’d exchanged yen for at the bank when he was explaining to them that he was going overseas and to not fucking freeze his card if he tried to use it, his boarding pass, his landing card, his visa, his identification card, the notarized letter that allows him to travel as an unaccompanied minor... 

Was there anything else? 

He doesn’t think so, but he’ll check once again in the morning. 

Everything else is ready. 

His bags are packed and he’s tripled-checked the train schedule for the morning. 

He’s going to America. 

He’s interning for fucking _Batman_. 

Katsuki isn’t an irrational person. He knows what goals are realistic and what he’s capable of. He knows he can surpass All Might. All Might was Japan’s number one hero, and had been for literal decades, but Batman is _Batman_. He’s practically the most important hero in the world. He founded the fucking Justice League. 

There was an entire chapter of Introduction to International Heroics: Fifth Edition solely dedicated to Batman and the Justice League. Getting to intern there is a goddamn honor and he’s not going to fuck this up. Getting to be associated with Batman and his team would mean a shit ton for his hero rankings in the future. 

He and Mitsuki might not agree on much—barely anything, really—but this is one thing. She was always the type to tell him that he needed to do whatever it took to get to where he wanted to be. If he got any kind of opportunity to get ahead, he had to take it. That’s why she insisted on so many extracurriculars when he was younger: the quirk trainer, the gymnastics lessons, the dance lessons, the mixed martial arts classes, anything to get ahead. 

He kicked ass at those classes, too, the same way he’s gonna kick ass at this internship. 

/ 

New Jersey is...hm. 

Maybe it’s just Gotham’s Archie Goodwin International Airport, not the entire state, but—the place is just...crappy. Could it be all of America? Potentially. He did listen to a podcast recently about the lack of general infrastructure in the country. Mostly he’d wanted to prove that he was fluent in English, not for any real curiosity about the subject. Though he would admit that the section on how exactly the Gotham Subway got so underfunded was interesting. 

It was mostly city and state politicians diverting millions of dollars in funding away from public transportation, then realizing that the operating costs weren’t being covered by the fare, then turning to local billionaires refinancing the debts. It happened a long time ago, as far as Katsuki was concerned, but the debt is still there. So that left Gotham City with a public transportation system that’s underfunded and operating at a total loss, with over half of their budget being made by the Gotham Subway selling bonds to cover costs, but every time the Gotham Subway sold bonds, they had to pay the state of New Jersey a fee, when it was the state funding cuts that forced them to issue bonds in the first place. He doesn’t remember the exact number, but Katsuki’s pretty sure that the fees totaled more than three hundred million dollars. 

What? The podcast was interesting. 

He thinks of that podcast now, as he watches the baggage claim move, searching for his suitcase. Perhaps he shouldn’t have listened to his mother and only packed enough clothes for the internship into a carryon bag to avoid this shit. 

There should be a car waiting for him, according to the letter he received after sending word that he’d accepted the offer. Blandly he wonders what the sign he was told to look for will say. It’s always interesting to see how his name gets Romanized. 

This shit is part of why he hates flying. He could be spending the time he’s standing here staring at a fucking carousel doing something more important than this. He’s been staring at a conveyor belt for the last ten fucking minutes. This is bullshit. He flew first class! His suitcase should’ve been one of the first out! What the fuck else are his parents paying this fucking much money? 

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down as he stares at the carousel. Is he going to have to memorize any of the public transport in this city? Where is he even going to report? American heroes don’t usually have agencies. Where do they even work out of? He’s not even sure where he’s fucking staying! The confirmation paperwork he’d gotten had just said everything is confidential. He was barely even allowed to tell anyone where he was interning! 

If Aizawa hadn’t personally done his research and had All Might reach out to confirm that this is a real internship, then Katsuki might’ve been concerned that this is an elaborate kidnapping attempt. 

Finally, his suitcase comes around the corner and he pushes past some lady, ignoring her offended noises, grabbing the handle and hefting it over the ledge to settle on the ground. Now he can fucking leave this place. He just got off a twelve-hour flight and is stuck in a shitty airport. He’s allowed to be a little fucking pissed off. 

He drags his suitcase behind him and towards the exit, glancing around for a sign with something that looks like it could be his Romanized name. There isn’t really anything—what? 

An older white man, tall but slender, wearing a three piece suit and white gloves, is standing just inside one of the automatic doors, holding up a sign with his name on it, but it’s not Romanized. 

It’s in kanji. 

What the fuck. 

Sure, the internship offer was in Japanese, but—he really didn’t expect this. He’s in America. Why would anyone write his name in kanji? Americans expect everything to be in English everywhere—he's seen enough American tourists in Mustafu to last a lifetime. Hell, that’s part of the reason most people in town knew English, because they couldn’t really get a job in customer service without it. Which is an issue in and of itself—why can’t Americans just fucking learn Japanese? 

He takes another breath before he can get himself worked up, heading over to the man. 

“Oi.” 

The man turns to face him. “You must be Bakugou Katsuki,” he says, in Japanese. 

_In Japanese._

What the fuck. 

What the hell is happening here? 

“I speak English,” he says, too shocked to say anything else. 

The man nods, a small smile hinting at his lips. “Of course, sir. My name is Alfred. I work for your mentor’s... _benefactor_. You’ll be staying in his home for the week.” 

This is a British man. 

Did he get on the wrong flight? 

Katsuki swallows. This is so fucking weird. Literally none of this has ever happened before when his mother dragged him to America. Americans aren’t usually like this. Who the fuck has ever called him ‘sir’? What the fuck. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says. 

Alfred reaches for his suitcase, and Katsuki’s too shocked to protest. “Let’s head out then, sir.” 

Katsuki nods, still a little dazed. This is so fucking weird. 

Then again, Americans do tend to be weird. 

The car Alfred leads him to isn’t totally special—he's used to this kind of luxury. A black Rolls Royce isn’t special to him—his parents had one shipped to Japan just because Mitsuki loved it the first time she ever rode in one. Katsuki really doesn’t know why, because neither of his parents drive. They have a driver, Ishii-san. Why they couldn’t just use Ishii-san's car is something Katsuki never understood, but he doesn’t understand most of the reasons why his mother does anything. 

Before Katsuki can reach to open the car himself, Alfred swoops in, bending to open the door for him. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this? 

Katsuki doesn’t know a lot about cars, because he doesn’t give a shit about them and he’s always preferred taking the trains around Mustafu. But he knows that this brand of car is expensive. One of the podcasts he listened to talked about it. Doesn’t this kind of car cost almost half a million in United States money? 

What the hell kind of “benefactor” spends this much money on a car? 

Bruce Wayne, apparently. 

It has to be—that's the name that came up when he started scouring American websites for any information he could find. He’s the person funding Batman. Sponsors him or whatever. He isn’t sure how American heroes make money, since American hero laws basically say they’re on their own except for the fund that the government has for “damage sustained in heroic activities”. 

Katsuki’s research hadn’t stopped at Batman. He’d researched Bruce Wayne, too. Aside from financing the whole Batman operation, he’s suspected to actually be Batman, on some fringe forums, but the theory is a total joke in the mainstream forums. Worth about nine and a half billion United States dollars—about nine hundred and fifty billion yen, Katsuki’s brain automatically translates. 

There’s also some big joke about him adopting children? Katsuki couldn’t find the exact number of kids the man has, because that information isn’t publicly available, but the general consensus online seems to be somewhere between six and ten. A couple people had even claimed twenty, but that seems just a touch illogical. 

He settles into the expensive leather seats of the car, taking a breath as he watches Alfred in the rearview mirror, the older man setting Katsuki’s suitcase into the trunk before shutting it and making his way back around to the driver’s seat. 

The man slides into the car, adjusting his gloves and shutting the door next to him. “Welcome to Gotham. I hope you’ll find your stay educational.” 

Katsuki doesn’t say a word for moment. “Yeah, me too," he mumbles to himself, sinking further into the seats.

The price for this car might be unjustifiable, in Katsuki's eyes, but the seats are real fucking nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. i'm sorry this fic took so long to update, i was a little nervous about continuing this fic. a lot of anxiety on making sure everyone's in character. a lot of research and planning, some personal stuff, you know. i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and yes, bruce and the batfam will be showing up in the next chapter.
> 
> if you’re looking for more reasons to hate rudy giuliani (though you probably don’t need any more), let me scream at you about how he cut literally $400 million in funding for the mta during his time as the mayor of new york city, so i based that whole paragraph on that. i’ve annoyed my friends in the groupchat enough about this. please follow me on twitter and i’ll never talk about fics, just the fact that the mta was done a disservice by state and local officials in new york. am i from new york? no. don’t worry about it.
> 
> i have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AgSKDJb), if you're into it. it's still a bit small but everyone's welcome! my tumblr is [here](https://rae-tnub.tumblr.com), and my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/rae_tnub).


	4. Chapter 4

There’s something to be said about rich people and their cars. It’s...what was that English word? 

Stately? Definition: having a dignified, unhurried, and grand manner; majestic in manner and appearance. 

Yeah, that’s it. Stately. Rear-hinged doors, leather so expensive it’s easy to melt into, tinted windows, just all around the kind of car those guys who’re really into cars would love. He listened to a podcast about cars once. Mostly for the same reason he listened to that American infrastructure podcast, making sure his understanding of the English language stayed where it needed to be. 

That tape fucker in his class liked cars, didn’t he? Katsuki thinks so, anyway. The guy had been ranting about some kind of horsepower something or other with that Lips guy in the locker rooms a while ago. He remembers it because Glasses was encouraging that shit. It had bothered the fuck out of him, because they completely got the specs of the Lexus RC F wrong. It’s a 5.0-liter V8 engine, 472 horsepower and 395 pound-feet of torque at 4,800 rpm, not whatever bullshit they were talking about. Of course, Katsuki didn’t feel like dealing with their bullshit, so he hadn’t corrected them. But it had been a close thing, because Mitsuki’s right about a few things, and Katsuki being a know-it-all is one of those. 

But that’s not important. 

He’s just surprised at how easily he can relax into these seats. Expensive leather is something else. He’d known this, from the ranting about it his father does whenever he comes back from work functions tipsy, because that’s what Bakugou Masaru rants about when he’s been drinking. Nothing fun, just fashion shit. Katsuki can still remember the rant he’d gone on about pleather and how it’s the best marketing scheme in the world or whatever. 

Apparently it’s just plastic. 

Katsuki watches the old man in the rearview mirror for a while. He’s wearing driving gloves. Which is fucking ridiculous, but he’s already decided to research butlers and what their whole thing is about. It’s probably some kind of requirement of the job or whatever. 

Eventually it gets boring staring at the man, so he turns his glare to the forest outside. Katsuki always kind of liked forests, but Japanese forests are very different than American forests. For one, there are different types of trees, leading to different paths through and a different kind of canopy, and he’s enjoyed hiking through forests near Mustafu. He’s never gotten to hike through American forests, but this isn’t really an American forest. 

It’s very clearly been bulldozed and deforested in specific ways to make room for the estates of rich people, the houses and fences getting bigger the farther they drive. The roads are winding and uphill and downhill and Katsuki isn’t sure why this place he’s staying is almost an hour outside the city he’ll be working in. 

How the hell is he going to report to work? Is this weird butler dude just going to drive him into the city every morning? Does he really want to deal with this shit? 

Jesus Christ. 

Alfred eventually pulls up to a giant gate, seemingly gold-plated or whatever kind of metal makes it look gold without rusting or fading, a big, circular seal with the letter W in the middle of the fancy gate, surrounded by tall brick walls. He can’t see the house over the walls. 

“We’re almost there,” Alfred reports as he presses a button, the window rolls down automatically, and he leans out, typing in an extensively long passcode. 

The numbers beep as his fingers press them in, and Katsuki wonders why, because he recognizes the beeping sounds. It’s the same tone that every single thing uses. If this guy is so rich, why the fuck does he let his butler punch in a passcode that someone could easily recognize? 

0358261870\. 

Must mean something, then. Why else would the number be so long? 

He makes a mental note of it. 

What? If he’s staying here, he should know the gate code. It’s only fair. 

The gate slips open, loudly, and it’s ridiculously extravagant. Fitting for a billionaire, Katsuki thinks, sitting up a bit further as the car rolls through the gates, and... _holy shit._

The house can’t even be called a house. It’s fucking huge, taking up so much space that it’s hard to believe there’s even grounds to this place. It’s a mansion. A manor, even. Katsuki doesn’t know much about architectural styles but this looks like some kind of European church or something. What the hell is that style called? He has no idea but this house wouldn’t look out of place in some European countryside, tucked behind miles and miles of perfectly manicured fields. 

It doesn’t look out of place here, but it’s close enough to Gotham City that he can still see the skyscrapers if he looks just behind him, and it feels wrong to be able to see the city. 

Alfred looks amused in the rearview mirror and Katsuki carefully schools his face into his usual scowl, sitting back in his seat as the car rolls up the main driveway, up and around a roundabout, surrounding an extravagant fountain of what must be limestone, and the car pulls to a stop in front of a main entrance. 

Katsuki unbuckles his seatbelt and makes a move to get out of the car, but Alfred is out and opening the door before he can get out and Katsuki finally understands why these rich people enjoy the rear-hinged doors. It feels very fancy to step out of that kind of car to a giant, stately mansion, facing a staircase up to the entrance. 

It’s awkward for a moment, waiting for any instructions from Alfred, but then, the front door of the manor swings open, and Bruce Wayne steps out, a giant smile on his face. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, with a white button-down, no tie. Very much an American thing, as far as Katsuki knows. 

“You must be Bakugou!” the man greets brightly, loudly, and it reminds Katsuki so much of All Might’s booming voice. He makes his way down the stairs. “My name is Bruce Wayne, I'll be your host!” 

“Katsuki’s fine.” 

The man’s smile flickers for a second, but he recovers quickly, nodding. “Katsuki it is, then,” he agrees, reaching out to shake hands. “You can call me Bruce.” 

Katsuki squints slightly, but shakes the man’s hand anyway. He’s never met an American who’s been able to pronounce his name right on the first try, unless they were Japanese-American or obsessed with anime. Bruce Wayne is a white man his mother’s age, and Katsuki doesn’t really doubt that a billionaire has enough time to binge watch anime. Interesting. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Katsuki. Come in, Alfred will bring your things up to the room you’ll be staying in, and I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Bruce says, motioning for Katsuki to follow him. 

He remembers finding some photos in his research of Bruce Wayne, photos of him in some kind of nightclub or something, but what really caught his attention was the fact that Mitsuki was in the background of the photos. He’d demanded answers from her, and Mitsuki had shrugged and started going on and on about how she _“had a life before you, Katsuki”_ and all that shit, but eventually she’d just said that she was a model and it had been expected of her to go out and party, until she had a child. 

The interior of the house is just as extravagant the exterior and it reminds Katsuki of the old American movies about rich people he used to watch with his dad. It’s so stereotypically old-money rich American that Katsuki’s almost suspicious of it. It’s a bit odd, really, but he still follows the man into what looks like an informal living room. 

“Oh my God, did you get another kid?” 

Katsuki barely has time to brace himself before he’s jolting out of the way of a blonde girl, avoiding her hug. She’s seemingly older than him, dressed in an unfortunate denim jacket and matching jeans, and Katsuki hates how much of his father’s bullshit has rubbed off on him. 

Bruce sighs in what seems like fond annoyance. “This is Stephanie, she is not my child and she does not live here, despite anything she might say otherwise. Stephanie, this is Katsuki, he’ll be staying with us for the week.” 

“If she’s not your kid, the fuck is she doing here?” Katsuki can’t help but ask, looking suspiciously at the man. He’s only in his late thirties, Katsuki thinks, too young for the midlife crisis leading to the acquirement of a barely-legal plaything. 

The man just laughs. “I ask myself that every single day,” he says. “She’s a friend of my children, Cass and Tim. You’ll be meeting them in a minute.” 

Hm. Acceptable answer. 

“Oh, I adore this one!” Stephanie says, cheerfully, turning to drape an arm over Katsuki’s shoulders, and Katsuki just barely manages to keep his quirk under control, baring his teeth at her. She doesn’t seem bothered by it, just grinning brightly. “You’re going to be so much fun! Come with me, I’ll introduce you to everyone instead of this old grump.” 

Katsuki can’t do anything but follow her towards what looks like the entrance to some tourist castle instead of a home, a palatial grand entryway, with columns and a clearly priceless chandelier, a giant stairway right in the center of the room. 

Okay, yeah, Katsuki comes from money himself, but nothing like this. His parents prefer a very clean, modern, minimalist interior design, not “I-have-money-and-nothing-else-to-do-but-show-it-off" money. That’s what this is. This is show-off money. Like, what Mitsuki called fuck you money. 

Stephanie leans over with a grin. “Don’t worry, Katsuki,” she whispers, her pronunciation of his name fumbled and awkward, and Katsuki corrects her absent-mindedly, nodding when she finally pronounces it right, “I was surprised my first time here, too.” 

Katsuki stays silent, glaring in her direction, following her deeper into the house. She leads him around the back of the grand staircase and down a hallway until they reach a large kitchen, where it finally looks like something Katsuki recognizes. It’s one of those kitchens that Katsuki’s seen before and he relaxes minutely. 

Only for a second, though, because suddenly he recognizes that there are two people in the room, both staring at him. An Asian boy, who’s shorter than Katsuki and somehow just as tired-looking as Aizawa-sensei. The first thing Katsuki notices about him isn’t his nationality—though Katsuki can’t really tell which country his ancestry is from, he’s never been good at that—but the frankly awful mess of clothing he’s wearing. There’s a stained blue shirt with a character from some anime and neon yellow pajama pants. Not even the other man in the room—tanned, maybe in his early twenties, tall with black hair and blue eyes, reminding Katsuki of all the male models his mother is friends with—seems to be bothered by the crimes against humanity next to him, and that’s probably because he’s dressed just as awfully, in a white button down and blue sweatpants. 

What the fuck. 

Not all Americans are like, this, right? 

“Oh, fuck, did Bruce really adopt another one?” the Asian boy asks, then turns to yell out into the hallway. “Really, Bruce? Another kid?” 

Katsuki blinks. 

Maybe that joke about Bruce Wayne and adoption is more than just a joke. 

“No, you’re the internship kid, right? From Japan? Katsuki?” the man says, then bursts into a grin. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Dick, and I'm gonna be your Gotham tour guide, when you’re not working of course!” 

Katsuki can’t help the look of disgust on his face. “Dick? By choice?” he asks. 

The Asian boy just shakes his head. “We’ve all tried. He insists,” he says, shrugging. “I’m Tim.” 

Stephanie’s friend. 

Alright. 

Dick frowns, cocking his head to the side as he stares at Katsuki. “Oh, shit, you must be tired. You just got off a flight, right? How long’s a flight from Japan? Twelve hours, right?” he asks. “And Bruce didn’t offer to take you to a room? What an asshole. Come on, kid, you should go rest until dinner, and then you can meet everyone else.” 

“I’m fine!” Katsuki responds, bristling. How did this asshole figure that out? He’s always been so careful about this. It’s a fucking weakness, if someone realizes when you’re tired. Fuck, he’ll have to work on that, won’t he? 

Tim just shrugs. “Alright,” he says plainly. 

“Ah, I see you’ve met Dick and Tim,” Bruce’s voice says, and Katsuki turns to stare at him. The man just smiles. “Duke and Damian are still in school, and Cass is at her ballet class. You’ll meet them at dinner tonight, and after dinner, you’ll be meeting with the big guy.” 

The big guy? Really? Does he mean Batman? Why the hell did he refer to him like that? 

Fucking weird. 

Katsuki nods. 

“Quiet one, huh?” Dick asks, reaching up into a cabinet for a bowl. “Alright, that’s fine. Do you want a snack? Alfred made homemade ice cream last night.” 

Stephanie lets go of Katsuki’s shoulders, skipping around the table. “Ooh, get me a bowl. You too, Katsuki, you haven’t _lived_ until you’ve tried Alfie’s ice cream!” 

All of these people are weird. 

Is it just an American thing? Are all Americans weird? 

Katsuki just blinks as a bowl is shoved into his hands. 

Is his whole internship going to be like this? 

How much time is he going to have to spend with these people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i ended up basing the wayne manor layout around [this floor plan by doc-squash](https://doc-squash.tumblr.com/post/185680773278/mk-ii-final-version-bonus). they do some amazing batfam fan art and you should definitely check them out. the next chapter is going to be a lot of fun, i think.
> 
> i have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AgSKDJb), if you're into it. it's still a bit small but everyone's welcome! my tumblr is [here](https://rae-tnub.tumblr.com), and my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/rae_tnub).

**Author's Note:**

> [moni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moniix/pseuds/Moniix) is a legend and this is all because of her buying me coffee (more info linked in my tumblr), but also: i wrote my thesis on batman and robin, so i'm glad i went to college for something. batman himself probably won't show up until chapter three but please enjoy the start of this. 
> 
> also: the official name of the hero ranking is dumb and gross and i don't like it. a lot of this is gonna focus on cultural differences and i'm going to be taking so many creative liberties. you can't stop me. the title came from a quote from the killing joke: "madness is an emergency exit." i wanna say thank you to [bunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonhaebunny/pseuds/wonhaebunny) for naming "the international convention on hero licensing regulations", because i know nothing about legal shit.
> 
> i have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/AgSKDJb), if you're into it. it's still a bit small but everyone's welcome! my tumblr is [here](https://rae-tnub.tumblr.com), and my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/rae_tnub).


End file.
